The Bounty of Doing Without
by TracyLeeT
Summary: Young Adam has new boots and a renewed sense of what's important.


**The Bounty of Doing Without**

The afternoon sunshine blazed straight-edged trails of light that stretched at slanted angles across the handmade Paiute rug. Wafted puffs of air transformed the trails, shifting them to and fro as the curtains danced in the rose- scented breeze. Chubby toes settled along the edge of one trail before leaping onto the next, a satisfied giggle accompanying each and every daring bound. From the side of his bed, nine-year-old Adam Cartwright paused his task, peeking over the tops of his eyes at the laughing, little boy. A smile crept slowly across Adam's face as he watched his little brother's tongue wiggle against his cheeks and twist along his lips, searching for the perfect vantage point - the position that would ensure his next successful jump. A light gust made its way through the open window, and the rays of sunlight gathered together, brightening the room and bouncing a glistening spark into the sapphire eyes of four-year-old Hoss Cartwright.

"They're gone!" Hoss said, his fists planted firmly against his hips. "I was clean up ta six 'n' now, they're gone!"

Adam's smile grew as his brother explored the bedroom floor, searching for the bouncing beams of light. Hoping to hide his amusement, Adam returned to the chore at hand, glancing frequently at Hoss's antics while he polished and admired his brand new pair of shiny, black boots. He buffed the toe of his left boot, applying pressure as his father had shown, and he chuckled when he noticed his own tongue laboring in tandem with the swishing of the shoe brush in his hand.

"Adam!" Hoss cried in delight. "Look! They're back, Adam!" Disappointed with his brother's lukewarm nod, Hoss scampered to the bedside, plunked his forearms on the mattress and laid his chin along his fingertips. "Ain'tcha never gonna stop shinin' them new boots?" Hoss asked with his usual exasperated tone.

"I'll stop when they're perfectly shined," Adam replied, holding the boot at eye level for official muster. Hoss inhaled deeply and loudly, and Adam silently ticked off the four seconds it always took for the despondent emotion that was sure to follow. ". . . three, four, and there it is!" he thought, nodding his head proudly as Hoss sighed with his exhale.

"What's so dadgummed special 'bout them boots, anyhow?" Hoss asked, his eyes dulling with boredom as his fingers drummed atop the mattress.

Adam set aside his first success, picked up his right boot, and rubbed along the sole as he explained, "What's so special is that Pa worked really hard to save the money for these boots, Hoss. I know you're awful little," Adam continued, pausing to recollect the words he'd heard his father say last week at the bank, "and you don't know 'bout the financial matters affecting the ranch . . ."

"The wha?" Hoss asked, scrunching his nose.

Adam turned the boot in his hand, picked up a small cloth, and wiped at a tiny fingerprint near the pull strap. "The financial matters affecting . . ." Adam started, quickly changing his explanation at the sight of Hoss's indifferent expression, "the pork chops and biscuits we're having for dinner."

Hoss's head sprung up and his eyes widened in disbelief. "Wait," he said. "Pa buyed them boots 'n' now we ain't havin' dinner?"

A grin swelled on Adam's lips, and he rumpled Hoss's hair. "Don't worry, Hoss. We'll be havin' dinner." Returning to his boot, Adam tossed the cloth aside and retrieved the brush. "I'm just trying to explain that when Pa needs to buy the things the stock needs, pay our hands their wages, and buy our supplies, too, well, sometimes there isn't enough money left for things like boots."

"But'cha needed them boots, Adam!" Hoss said sincerely. "The ones ya had was full o' holes 'n' I knowed they was hurtin' your feets 'cause they was too small."

Adam's buffing stopped, and he carefully studied his little brother's face. "You're right, Hoss," he said softly. "They were so tight that I couldn't even stuff paper inside to plug up the holes, and that's my point. Pa knew all that, and even though it wasn't easy, he saved up enough money to buy new boots."

Hoss wrinkled his forehead. "But, how'd he save the money, Adam? You said there weren't none extra."

Adam placed the boots together, admiring their newness and remarkable shine. Wisdom washed over his face, and his hazel eyes became solemn. "I reckon Pa did without, Hoss. Back when you were a baby, and for a long time before that, Pa used to do without all the time."

"You look real sad, Adam" Hoss said. Quickly, he climbed onto the bed and settled next to his big brother. "When Pa does without, is he sad, too?"

Adam slipped his arm around Hoss's back. "I don't think so, Hoss. Pa's only sad when you and I have to do without."

The brothers sat in contemplative silence, the warm breeze flittering the curtains as once more, the rays of sunshine crawled across the room. Hoss dropped his head against Adam's chest, and Adam pulled him closer.

"Hey, Adam," Hoss whispered, "let's do somethin' nice for Pa. 'Cause he buyed them boots and we're gonna have dinner, too."

Adam tugged his arm, folding Hoss tightly against his chest. "Good idea, little brother. You got any ideas?"

"Now, you're sure, Adam?" Ben asked, anxious over the decision he was about to make as he knelt in front of his sons. "I'll be gone only as long as it takes for Amos and me to free that little calf from the muck he managed to slip into."

As his boss reviewed the situation for the third time, Amos Carson – one of only two hands that Ben could currently afford - fidgeted impatiently, worrying for the young calf as he turned his hat over and over in his hands.

"And all you have to do is keep a close eye on your brother until I get back," Ben said. He hated leaving Adam to care for Hoss, even for a short time. His belief that Adam would do his very best was unwavering, yet he knew that Hoss's innocent curiosity was a constant test for anyone.

"I will, Pa," Adam promised, beaming with confidence in the face of his father's trust.

Ben nodded and, knowing his son would balk at any show of affection in the presence of one of the hands, he locked into Adam's piercing eyes, grasped his shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. A smile tugged at Ben's lips when he turned to his younger boy who, in an effort to stand still, was impatiently twisting his body from side to side. "Now, Hoss," Ben said, waiting for the boy's attention, "you listen to Adam and do what he says. You understand?"

"Okay, Pa," Hoss replied. "Are ya gonna save the calf?"

"That's right, Hoss," Ben assured. "Mr. Carson and I are going to save the calf."

"Okay, Pa," Hoss repeated, throwing himself against Ben's chest, his arms clasped behind his father's neck. "Hurry up, 'cause we ain't doin' without supper tonight, even if we got them new, shiny . . ."

"Okay, Hoss," Adam interrupted, quickly peeling his brother from their father. "You'd best get going, Pa, before that calf gets herself in deeper."

Confused and slightly worried, Ben nodded and, after one last reminder to Hoss to heed his older brother, followed Amos out to the waiting horses.

"Okay, Hoss," Adam said, "Pa won't be gone for very long, so we have to work together to get this done."

"Okay, Adam," Hoss replied, clearly eager to get their surprise underway. "What do I do first?"

Adam stood surveying the task at hand, his arms folded across his chest, his methodical thinking taking charge. "Well, Hoss," he said, scratching the side of his neck, "we need to gather this firewood that Pa cut this morning into piles."

"Uh . . . Adam," Hoss said, scrunching his lips to the side, "it's already in a whopper of a pile!"

Adam smirked and rubbed the side of his nose. "Yeah, Hoss, I guess it is. What I meant to say is that we need to gather pieces that are about the same size into piles, so that once it's all sorted, we can stack it in a real balanced pile like Pa always does."

Hoss nodded, and Adam clapped him on the back, knowing that the best way to explain something to his four-year-old brother was to demonstrate. Adam stepped to the left side of the wood heap and selected several lengths of wood, standing them on end two at a time to compare their height. Moments later, he caught sight of Hoss and quickly hid his grin as his little brother mirrored his every move. After several minutes, Adam was pleasantly surprised to find that Hoss's pile was nearly as large as his, and he swelled with pride as he imagined his father's reaction to their surprise.

Before long, the firewood had been organized to Adam's liking, and he gave instruction for the next step, telling Hoss that the largest pieces should be placed at the bottom, and that the edges of one end of each piece should rest along the side of the house. "Can you tell me which of our piles has the longest pieces?" he asked, waiting patiently as Hoss walked from mound to mound.

"Here it is," Hoss announced, "and it's one of mine!

"Yes, it is, Hoss," Adam agreed. "Now, let's stack that group first."

Sweat dripped into Adam's eyes, stinging them as he swiped them with his sleeve. He and Hoss had cleared three piles, and Adam had just finished explaining that the next one would go in front of the others. He marveled at Hoss's boundless energy as, without hesitation, the little boy went to task. Working together, the woodpile grew, and Adam couldn't help wondering which pieces would warm their home from the fireplace and which would end up in the kitchen stove to bake their bread. The rhythm of their efforts caught his attention as well, and he passed the time by counting the number of steps he took in comparison to those of his brother. With the afternoon sun blaring down upon them, it soon became obvious that both of their paces were slowing, and Adam suggested taking a break in the shade of the nearest trees. He went first to the well, quickly dropping the empty bucket and then raising it, listening as it sloshed from side to side. He set the bucket on the ground, filled the ladle and offered it first to his brother. Hoss drained it quickly and, after Adam had done the same, he slipped the leather ladle-strap over the nail on the well post and headed to sit beneath the cover of the trees.

"I need s'more, Adam," Hoss said, standing on tip toes as he reached for the ladle's handle.

Adam sighed, turning to walk back to the well. "Hoss, be careful," he said sternly. "I'm coming. Watch the bucket! You're not tall enough to . . ." Before Adam could finish his warning, Hoss yanked the ladle from the nail, his toes losing their balance along the rocky base. Hoss tipped and the bucket toppled, emptying itself on the ground as, slowly at first, Adam charged toward the well, shouting his brother's name. "Hoss!" Adam cried, reaching for his shirt as his body tipped forward toward the abyss of the well. "Gotcha!" Adam shouted, quickly wrapping his arm around Hoss's middle before lifting him, with ease, from the well wall and lowering him safely to the ground.

"Jeez, Adam," Hoss said, his chin quivering, "thanks fer catchin' me!"

Adam bent down in front of his brother. "Hoss," he said between panicked breaths, "you've got to be more careful. It's a good thing I wasn't too far away!" Adam mopped his brow with the cuff of his shirt and reached for Hoss's shaking hand. "Come on, buddy, let's go sit for a while."

Hoss's lips quivered and his downcast eyes flooded with tears. "I'm real sorry, Adam."

Adam stood, ruffling the hair on Hoss's head. "It's alright, Hoss," he assured. "I was just afraid that . . ." Adam stopped, his eyes following Hoss's low-pointing finger.

"I'm sorry, Adam!" Hoss repeated.

Adam stared down at his feet, at the shiny new boots situated in the thick mud next to the upturned, empty bucket. "Oh, no!" Adam cried. "My new boots!" His first thought was of the promise he'd made to care for his boots and, as he looked about at the half-stacked woodpile, the upturned bucket, and his little brother's tears-streaked face, Adam's second thought was a vision of his father's disappointed face.

As if he'd read Adam's mind, Hoss wiped his nose and exhaled loudly. "I'm gonna stack the rest of the wood for Pa so's you can clean your boots." Electing not to wait for a reply, Hoss went to work, gathering one piece at a time.

Adam tugged on his feet, dragging them from the murky sludge. He shucked his boots on the front porch and, after instructing Hoss that he should sit on the porch until he returned, Adam rushed into the house for a cleaning cloth and the shoe brush. When he returned, he found his brother doing as he'd been told, sitting impatiently with his chin on his knees.

"Can I finish now, Adam?" he asked as Adam wasted no time in working feverishly at the mud-caked boots.

"Huh?" Adam said, cleaning the inside edge of his right boot. "Oh, yeah, Hoss. Just remember to put the biggest ones down first, and please, be careful!"

After a bit, Adam's arm was aching from buffing the leather to a nice, fresh shine. He'd finished the right boot, and the left was just about to his liking when he was summoned to the side of the house by Hoss's excited voice.

"Adam!" Hoss cried. "Come see, Adam! I'm finished! We done it, Adam! Ain't Pa gonna be . . ."

Adam sat perfectly still, his knuckles white, the fingers of each of his small hands wrapped securely around two of the smooth balusters. His elbows were drawn tightly against his sides in an effort to make himself invisible as he eavesdropped on the scene in the great room below. He'd been seated at the top of the grand pine staircase for nearly twenty minutes, exhausting one strategy after another as he sought a way to comfort his distraught father. Only when Ben shuffled his feet at the ends of the fireplace hearth, turning slowly before continuing his relentless pacing, did Adam hear a sound other than the ticking of the old grandfather clock. He jerked as the reliable timepiece below struck an ominous reminder that precious time was fleeting, and as the toll sounded, he sighed softly in defeat. His nine-year-old eyes grew heavy, and he fought to raise his eyelids against the mounting exhaustion. With his forehead leaning wearily against his thumbs, he considered making his way back to his bedroom when suddenly, his father's persistent gait stopped. Adam raised his head and stared as Ben slumped heavily into the familiar contours of his prized red chair, and sighing, laid his hands limply in his lap.

Hoping to see some measure of relief on his father's face, Adam squinted his drowsy eyes, but the distance and the hour made his task impossible. Defeated, his shoulders drooped and, again, he lowered his head against the rails, his nose poking out between his hands. He watched as his father moved his elbows to the firmly upholstered arms of the chair before joining his hands, steepling his fingers, and perching his chin on his fingertips. On the staircase, Adam furrowed his brow, placed his elbows on his knees, and slid his chin atop his fisted hands. In the great room below, Adam saw his father close his eyes and, on the stairs, Adam did the same, wishing he could eavesdrop further and heed the voice that spoke to his father in times of contemplation. The young boy saturated his thoughts with words; words he could hear his father saying as clearly as if he was speaking them aloud. Lifting the lid of his right eye, Adam peeked at his father, grateful to see that their united plea continued. Moments later, when a firm, loving hand clasped Adam's shoulder, he bolted to his feet, and cried out with the words he'd recited in his prayer: "Please make Hoss better! I promise, I'll be more careful!"

Ben Cartwright bounded from his chair, crossed the room, and stood clutching the decorative top of the newel post at the base of the stairs. He looked up, his eyes focused sharply on Adam as, hand in hand with Doctor Paul Martin, he descended the stairs, hesitated on the landing, and then dashed down the remaining steps and into his waiting embrace. With slender arms wrapped tightly around his legs, Ben looked down at Adam and stroked his raven hair. Pulling his eyes away from his son, Ben lifted his head, forcing its movement through the tension-laden air that filled the room. "Paul?" he whispered, his eyes begging for the answer he so desperately needed to hear.

"He's going to be fine, Ben," Paul said, a reassuring arm clasping Ben's shoulder. Smiling down at the boy still clinging to his father's frame, Paul continued, hoping to lighten the somber mood between father and son. "Accidents happen, Ben. Especially when there are young boys involved! Hoss's right arm is badly bruised and he has a nasty bump on his head. The cut on his left arm wasn't as bad as it looked. It'll heal just fine. It could have been worse, Ben. He'll be uncomfortable and, most likely, irritable for the next few days."

Ben's nod was slight, veiled by the relieved exhale escaping from his lips. He rubbed Adam's back and gently peeled his son's arms from their hold. Adam's head tipped, and Ben gazed down into the questioning, hazel eyes.

"That'll be a quite a change," Paul added, making his way toward the front door. "Hoss is such a pleasant, agreeable child." He placed his medical bag atop the credenza and collected his gray derby. "He's asleep now, Ben, and I've asked Mrs. Smith to stay the night. She'll keep an eye on Hoss while the two of you get some rest. I'll come by to check on him first thing in the morning." Paul hesitated, concerned for his friend and his young son. "Ben," he called, waiting again until the anxious father drew himself from his thoughts.

"Oh, yes, Paul . . ." Ben said, shrouding his son's hand within his own, "thank you. Thank you for coming so quickly and for thinking to bring Mrs. Smith and for . . ."

"Ben," Paul interrupted as he plopped his hat onto his head, "he's going to be alright."

With Adam in tow, Ben hurried to the door, quickly taking Paul's proffered hand. His smile was returned, and Paul breathed a sigh of relief as he noted a measure of worry floating from Ben's eyes. Paul winked down at the boy and, seeing the glum expression on his serious face, he tousled Adam's hair and patted his shoulder once again.

In the open doorway, hand in hand with his father, Adam watched as the doctor's buggy made its way noisily across the yard, down the rain-furrowed road, and silently out of sight. Although Adam appeared as still as his father, his toes were in constant motion, fidgeting nervously inside his new, shiny, black boots. His father tugged on the hand that rested so comfortably around his own, and Adam obediently stepped back, watching the heavy, pine door swing to a close, a slight breeze wafting along his face.

Ben looked everywhere in the room except at his son. Over the nine years since Adam's birth, Ben had struggled with his skills as a parent, his mounting experience cautioning him to think before speaking and to speak before taking action. Hoss's beloved mother, Inger, had said that, at times, it was his way of putting off what he was ill at ease to confront, and in the three years since her tragic death, Ben's challenges had become more and more difficult.

"Adam," Ben said softly, wringing his hands and clearing his throat of emotion, "I'm going up to check on Hoss and Mrs. Smith. Have you finished your homework?" he asked, hoping that Adam would retreat to his studies and delay the inevitable.

"Yes, sir," Adam replied meekly, "but the arithmetic problems still need to be checked."

Ben nodded imperceptibly. "I'll be glad to check them for you. I'm going up to check on Hoss, and I'll see if Mrs. Smith would do us the favor of preparing some supper and then, after dinner, we'll go over your numbers." Ben slid his hand from Adam's, straightened his stance, and stepped toward the stairs. He climbed to the landing, turning abruptly at the sound of Adam's anguished apology.

"Pa! I'm awful sorry, Pa! I shoulda been watching Hoss better. I shoulda . . . You did without to buy my boots and we just wanted to do something nice for you and Hoss wanted to clean the barn, but I said we wasn't allowed to be around the horses and the pitchforks 'n' stuff, unless you or Amos was with us, and you and Amos was helpin' the calf, so we decided to stack the wood and then Hoss got thirsty and climbed up on the well and my boots got all wet and muddy and I had to clean them up, I just had to, Pa, and Hoss wanted to finish with the stacking and I shoulda been watchin' him, Pa, 'cause if I was he wouldn't have climbed up on the stack and he wouldn't have fallen and . . . I'm sorry, Pa! I'm awful sorry!"

Glowing embers burst upward and floated steadily down as the fire crackled and sizzled. Adam's head slumped against his father's broad chest, his own chest rising and falling steadily as he slept. Ben nuzzled his cheek against his son's silky hair and a tender kiss lingered atop the boy's head. Upstairs, Hoss was sleeping too, guarded by the family friend who often found it in her heart to spend time with the Cartwright boys.

Earlier, Ben and Adam had spent time at Hoss's bedside while Mrs. Smith prepared an enjoyable meal and then, after seeing to it that she ate as well, Ben summoned Adam to the settee, and Adam recounted the events of the afternoon in detail. Ben listened, having had time, as Inger had always insisted, to think before speaking, and when Adam finished and raised his repentant eyes, Ben swallowed the emotion creeping beyond his chest and said, "Son, you're right. You should have kept a closer watch on your brother. He isn't old enough yet to know what is safe and what is dangerous. But I know, Adam, that you did your best. You warned Hoss to be careful and he climbed up to the top of that pile just the same. It's like Doctor Martin said, accidents happen, and they can happen when a big brother is watching . . . and even when a pa is watching!"

"I was worried about my new boots, Pa," Adam had said softly, pushing his head against the strong arm around his shoulder. "You did without just so I could have them, and I got them muddy on the very first day, but . . ."

"But what, son?" Ben asked.

"I really, really like my boots, Pa," Adam said, "but I should've left them all muddy. Hoss is way more special than they are!"

Ben's throat tightened, and his eyes brimmed with tears. "You're right, Adam. Hoss is way more special. And so are you."

~ FINIS ~


End file.
